


Me, Myself, and I

by Doctor_Discord



Series: Commissions [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Violence, Good riddance, Murder, Sort Of, The Host Loses His Shit, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23746312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: The Author goes to confront the Host, but things don’t go as planned.
Series: Commissions [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662136
Comments: 14
Kudos: 83





	Me, Myself, and I

The Author hummed to himself, a broad grin split across his face as he stalked through the manor, bat resting on his shoulders. His grin only widened when Eric _cowered_ out of his way, freezing briefly like a deer in headlights before darting into the nearest room. The Author felt a blinding _glow_ of _pride_ when he picked up on Eric’s slight limp.

But Eric wasn’t his target.

And the Author kicked down the manor’s library door, and marched down the steps.

 _The Host_.

He didn’t know _how_ he managed to slip into this timeline. A future where _he_ was _dead_. A future where he’d…changed, where there were new egos, where there was so much _more_. All he knew, was that his little counterpart was _terrified_ of him. Barricaded himself in his library the _second_ the Author arrived, layered thick with magic. But the Host didn’t account for something. Didn’t account for _one specific thing_.

The Author and the Host were the same person.

And the Author waltzed right through his defenses.

“Hey, Hosty!” His voice rang and echoed through the cavernous library, slamming the creaky door shut. He could _feel_ his own magic woven through every fiber of the shelves and books he walked past, but it felt…different. Distant. Not _quite_ connected to him. It was strange, to say the least. “I hear we’re the same, you and I! Same person, different time. I wonder how _that_ happened. Care to share the story? Just a conversation between me, myself, and I?”

“ _Go away!_ ”

The Author shivered at the _power_ that rippled through those words, washing over him like a colossal wave. He actually made to turn around, backing up a step, his grin falling, before he regained control of himself. There had been a distress in the Host’s voice that he _craved_ , a _fear_ that only made him push harder, to get _more_ of that fear. It _fueled_ him, and he dropped his bat to the floor, the tip hitting stone ringing loud in the library. A headache began to form behind the Author’s eyes as he continued to move deeper, his metal bat grating against the stone floor. “Gonna have to try harder than that, Hosty!”

Silence.

It didn’t take him long to reach the eye of the library. The Host sat curled in his chair at his desk, knees pulled up to his chin, arms wrapped around his legs, and his face hidden between his knees. The Author could feel his tension in his own shoulders and spine, his headache growing worse and worse with every step closer he took, but he didn’t care. He just hopped up to sit on the edge of the Host’s desk, slamming the head of his bat against the floor and resting his hands on top of it. The Host was _covered_ with blood, _old_ blood, crusty, browning stains covering his coat and pants, dripping onto the floor, and adding to the permanent, dark stain under his desk. The Author raised an eyebrow at the sight of the ring on the Host’s finger, smirking a little. “I get _married?_ To who? Wait wait wait, don’t tell me, lemme guess, is it…that Dr. Iplier? Saw a ring on him last time I got close.” He shrugged. “He’s cute, I guess. Though I never thought I was the marrying type.”

The Host visibly _cringed_. “ _Please_ , shut up…”

The Author _grinned_ , golden eyes glinting. “ _Make me_. Or are you afraid your prime has already passed you by?”

There was a tense moment of silence, then –

The Host’s hand _shot out_ , snatching the Author’s bat right from his grasp, and his chair went clattering to the floor. His bandages – old and matted and stuck to his coat with dried blood – ripped away from his face as he stood, his empty sockets bared. “…The Host is _not_ afraid of the Author.” His voice was a little weak, shaky, but then he tightened his grip on the bat, and lifted it to _swing_. “The _Host_ is _not_ afraid of the Author. The Author doesn’t _belong_ here. The Host – the Host should’ve put an end to him a _long_ time ago.”

The Author swallowed, slipping off the desk, unable to tear his eyes away from the Host’s empty sockets. His own eyes _burned_ with the headache, he couldn’t _think_ , yet he could feel the _fear_ crawling up his throat. “Hey now, let’s not be hast –”

The Host swung.

The Author crumpled.

The Host didn’t _stop_ swinging. He could _hear_ the Author’s bones crunching under his own bat, hear his _screams_ of pain. But the Host showed no mercy. _The Author_ never showed mercy. So why should the Host? And before long, the Author was a broken mess cowering under his desk, unmoving, chest still, his golden eyes wide and glassy and lifeless. Blood pooled in a steadily growing puddle beneath him, and the Host – breathing heavily – stepped back. Bile rose in his throat, but he swallowed it back, tightening his grip on the bat, as if he were afraid the Author would still get up.

The Host only hesitated a moment longer before turning and _sprinting_ up into the arms of his family to tell them the news.

The Author was dead.

 _For good_.

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely commission I enjoyed!
> 
> Tumblr: doctordiscord123.tumblr.com


End file.
